. Imperial India; an artist's journals. e throne. All very foolish! But it was very hot; the beads of perspirationwould run down my nose, and those wretched tom-toms wouldcontinue their cursed row, so that foolishness was permissible. I showed my picture of the Gaekwar to the Maharanee. It isa profile. Why, you Ve only given one eye! was the intelligent re-mark ; and why have you only shown two strings of pearls fromthe tassel of his piigree f The rest are on the other side. Well, I suppose it is all right, you ought to know; but—but I saw she was not satisfied, and preferred her own picture,w
. Imperial India; an artist's journals. e throne. All very foolish! But it was very hot; the beads of perspirationwould run down my nose, and those wretched tom-toms wouldcontinue their cursed row, so that foolishness was permissible. I showed my picture of the Gaekwar to the Maharanee. It isa profile. Why, you Ve only given one eye! was the intelligent re-mark ; and why have you only shown two strings of pearls fromthe tassel of his piigree f The rest are on the other side. Well, I suppose it is all right, you ought to know; but—but I saw she was not satisfied, and preferred her own picture,which, being full-face, has two eyes. I left Nowsaree and the Maharanee on the 21st, and on themorning of the 22nd safely reached Bombay. Christmas at Bombay is indeed different from Christmas inEngland. Instead of snow, frost, and rain, here all is sunshineand warmth. But the warmth does not add to the you have seldom the pleasant prattle of children, the madscamper of restless youth, or the merry laugh that shows the. p- 332 SIAJI RAO, GAEKWAR (OR GUICOWAR), MAHARAJAH OF BARODA. NO WSA REE—BOMBA V. 333 mind free from cares. Still, the English in Bombay do theirbest to keep the festive season, and if they do it sadly after themanner of their countrymen, t is often that their minds are faraway in the old country; where children are drinking the healthsof their absent parents, who have become sometimes little morethan a name, or old people are thinking that one more Christmasis gone cf the many that must pass before their loved ones re-turn. Yet are the shops full of purchasers, and many a plumpudding is joyfully eaten in loving recollection of those that timehas long since digested. I ate mine at my good friend Melvills,and to me it is indeed a glad season, for now I may count mydays before my return home. I have painted all the rajahs andchiefs on my list but one, and he, I know, is in Bombay waitingto be painted. My passage too is taken, and I seem to
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